Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live.
Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.
Don't tell them too much about your soul. They're waiting for just that.
And as far as I can see the world is too old for us to talk about it with our new words.
The human bones are but vain lines dawdling, the whole universe a blank mold of stars.
It ain't whatcha write, it's the way atcha write it.